


Assisted Suicide

by sull89



Category: James Bond (Craig movies), James Bond (Movies)
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-07-27
Updated: 2016-07-27
Packaged: 2018-07-27 00:38:03
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,772
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7596472
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sull89/pseuds/sull89
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>For Q, anything was worth it.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Assisted Suicide

With a quiet groan James bit the inside of his cheek, silencing himself from further sound as reality filtered back through his senses. It was the sound of the lights he recognized first, buzzing harsh and industrial above him. Fluorescents, without a doubt. Sight came back second, verifying that fact with the fuzzy, muddled light that filtered through his retinas as he struggled to open his eyes. His marginally successful attempt at that brought tactile sensation rushing back, pain filling him like the ocean sweeping across a beach at high tide. 

Gasping in spite of himself the agent did his best to take stock of his surroundings through the one eye that wasn’t currently swollen shut. A quick check revealed the fact that he was unbound, a lucky turn of events, though taking stock of the rest of the room he quickly realized that didn’t mean he was a free man. That was when the sense of smell hit him – the acrid reek of unwashed human, blood, and waste. Though he was currently alone in the windowless cell it was clear it had been used to hold others before him. 

Using his hands and his limited sight James reviewed his own body – nothing broken, black eye he’d already known about, suit relatively tidy and free of bloodstains. Running his fingers over his hair revealed that it still felt clean; he hadn’t been here that long, then. The last sense to return finally made itself known and he regretted it the instant it registered – the inside of his mouth tasted like the room smelled: foul. They must have drugged him, he surmised, knocking him out long enough to get him here. 

As to where here was… well, he had ideas, though the exact location escaped him. He had been tracking Q, narrowed it down to somewhere in Greece and then more specifically Thessaloniki. MI6’s Quartermaster had gone missing the week before, snatched from the Tube three stations from the office. Whoever had done it was brazen and smart about it, having found some way to take him in rush hour traffic without raising a fuss. Whoever had done it had made James Bond livid, more so than he could ever remember being in his life and, considering said life, that was saying something. 

So he’d torn hell for leather after the bastard, upending the already disoriented and scared minions of Q-Branch to demand all their usable tech, whether or not it had been cleared for field use. He was going to save their boss; handing it over was the least they could do. He hadn’t even taken the time to ask for permission – M found out he’d gone when Moneypenny somewhat abashedly had to admit that nobody was quite sure where 007 was. Those were the kind of days that M regretted telling Q to destroy all of the Smart Blood files. 

And that had gotten him to where he was currently. Pushing himself to his feet James found he felt unsteady but was nonetheless able to manage. The only noticeable feature of merit in the room was the bed he’d been lying on – a hard, poured concrete slab jutting out from one of the walls. No mattress, no pillow or sheets, just cold grey concrete. Walking the eleven paces it took to get to the other side of his cell, James placed his hands against the wall: that action led him to one more interesting discovery.

This wall wasn’t featureless concrete like the rest of them. Smooth to the touch and cold it felt like glass. Peculiar, he thought. Even more peculiar was the pitch black behind it, clearly not within the glass itself but similar to the new technology being found in more and more modern office buildings – the kind that could morph with the touch of a button from clear to opaque. The realization sent a jolt of unease through him – this place was designed for something particular. James knew immediately that whatever was behind the glass wasn’t something he was going to want to see. 

Taking into account the complete lack of anything useful in the cell – and noticing his watch, shoes, socks, and tie had been stripped from him, James knew better than to try to break through the glass, at least for now. Doing so would only wound him and he had no idea what he would find on the other side. Better to wait and see what he was up against and who he was interacting with. 

Time passed in a monotonous drone but James refused to yield. Certain whoever held him captive was well aware he was awake James had no intention of giving them the pleasure of hearing him fret and whine about the lack of stimulation. Eventually he managed to drift into something akin to sleep, back propped against the wall to keep him upright as he sat on the concrete slab. No sense in letting himself act completely vulnerable, even in a situation like this. 

A few hours later – maybe, he wasn’t exactly sure of the time at this point – James heard a whirring, the sound out of place against the otherwise steady electrical hum of the florescent lights beating down on him. Eyes snapping open his body tensed slightly as he came back to full awareness in an instant, on his feet and wary as he waited for something, anything to manifest. It was then that the black wall in front of him started to fade to gray, seeming to disintegrate in front of his eyes. 

It wasn’t much longer before he could start making out shapes behind it – another cement cell, sharing the adjoining glass wall, but this one held a chair instead of the solid slab behind him. As trained a mind as he had, James managed to notice those details without giving it any thought. It was a good thing, too. What caught his attention and held it immediately was the mop of unruly dark hair masking the features of a man cuffed to the aforementioned chair. It was a sight he recognized immediately and something that brought his worst fear roaring to life. 

“Q,” he breathed out, rage rising hot in him again as he threw himself at the glass. He had to get through, had to get his hands on the other man, had to find some way to free and protect him. Without preamble James slammed himself into the glass again and again, using the only weapon he had at his disposal to try to break free – his own body. Faintly he could feel the bruises starting to take form but adrenaline rendered that point moot; it didn’t matter, nothing mattered right now except, “Q!”

His heart in his throat, James had to bite back a desperate sigh of relief when Q finally raised his head. The other man looked bone weary, exhausted well beyond what his usual 48 – 72 hour shifts incurred. Q was still alive and in control of his motor function at least; two things James counted as a blessing. The recognition that lit Q’s eyes was another welcome sign – more than likely Q wasn’t impaired by some unknown drug cocktail either. 

It was then that James realized while he could see Q moving his lips he couldn’t actually hear anything he might be saying. His frenzied assault on the glass grew even more vicious, James slamming his shoulder into it so hard his arm went numb. “Q!” he screamed the other man’s handle again, duty and panic and love welling inside him and fueling him to even greater measures. But try as he might two things were clear: no matter how loud he was Q couldn’t hear him and the same was true in reverse. No matter how hard he threw himself against the glass wall between them James wasn’t going to be able to get through. 

It wasn’t until James finally quit trying to use himself as a human battering ram that anything more happened. With his hands pressed impotently against the wall James allowed his forehead to rest on it as well, eyes laser focused on Q and his heart beating so hard in his chest it felt like it had moved up to his mouth. When the mechanical sound of someone speaking through a public address system suddenly filled the dead air that had been surrounding him James started, eyes narrowing as the voice started to drone on. 

“Ah, 007, how wonderful of you to finally show some of that famed anger. I certainly would have hated to miss out on it!” The voice wasn’t one he could place but it was already grating on him. There was a snarl on his lips but James refused to respond; he only spoke to amorphous voices in the sky when they came in through his earpiece and sounded like Q or R. Keeping his eyes firmly planted on Q James did his best to wrack his brain for an escape route, something to get them both out of here. He hated himself for always coming up short. 

Of course the voice continued – it seemed to enjoy listening to itself talk, “Don’t feel like talking? That’s fair, I’ve been told you’re not a man of many words. No worries, we don’t have to speak at all! As a matter of fact, Q won’t be able to in a moment.” It was then that another sound caught James’s ear. Looking up he located the source of the rattle with ease – a small section of the ceiling had pulled back, though it revealed nothing but a black hole.

It was only the light scratch of metal on concrete that alerted James before he reacted on instinct. As something was pushed into his cell through the hole James recognized it in an instant and caught the item before it hit the ground. His Walther PPK, fully intact, and it took James only a moment to check the magazine and verify that yes, the ammunition was still in place. Palming the weapon, James watched the three lights flash green and couldn’t help but allow himself a thin smile. 

Whatever game they were playing at that involved returning his gun James didn’t care. He felt more in control with it in his hands. Knowing his PPK only held 8 rounds – and that was if there was also one loaded in the chamber – he resisted the urge to test out the strength of the glass. He was certain it was bulletproof too. So he kept it in the proper grip, muzzle pointed down, and continued to wait in silence. 

That decision was rewarded without too much delay, “Really, Mr. Bond, I’m impressed. I would have expected you to waste at least a few rounds trying to break through to your dear Quartermaster. It’s good to see you have some semblance of self-control.” Internally James was rolling his eyes but he refused to rise to the bait. He had better things to do than play monkey for an anonymous voice in the sky. 

It seemed said voice couldn’t abide silence because within another moment it was speaking again. James could see the way Q’s eyes widened and canvassed the room with this new round of pointless chatter – it must not have been piped into his cell before, “Wonderful! Now that everyone is armed and ready, let’s get started! It’s simple, really, I promise! One of you is going to die.” The voice sounded positively giddy and James had to clench his teeth against the growl rising in his throat.

“I’ve ensured you both have the means and look forward to watching the proceedings.” In his mind’s eye, James imagined the satisfying feeling he’d get from unloading his clip into the speaker hidden somewhere in the room. “Now,” the voice continued, taking on an even more unhinged lilt as it did so, “I’m a man of my word, so this I vow. Whoever survives will be set free. I’m not saying whole and healthy, necessarily, but they won’t die on my watch.”

James was already busy tuning the incessant voice out, working through the various scenarios the bastard might have in mind. There was going to be some way to get both himself and Q out of it. There had to be, there always was. Focused as he was, it wasn’t until he caught the rising panic in the way Q held himself that James turned his attention to the room beyond his own. 

There was a door was partially open when James’s eyes found it, an egress built from the same drab material as the walls. It swung forward fully to admit a large man, the muscular silent type. James could tell from Q’s involuntary reaction – the way he shied away, curled in slightly as though trying to protect his core – that the two of them had had a run in at least a time or two before. The rage it sent spinning through him was sickening. 

It was then that James noticed it, the thin filament in the man’s hand, almost impossible to spot unless the light caught it just right. Panic of his own flooded him then; Q was bound, helpless and exposed and it didn’t take an expert of James’s caliber to recognize a garrote and put two and two together. “No!” that internal rage spun outward then, suffusing his face in a rictus of furious desperation as he brought his hand up, aimed, and fired. 

One, two, three, four bullets hit home, their trajectory frozen in midair, the glass holding fast. It was through that spiral of cracks that James watched the filament slide around Q’s throat and pull taut. With a curse James realized he was being toyed with – he could see the harsh, panicked breaths Q was pulling in through his open mouth, could tell the other man hadn’t applied pressure just yet. 

Frantic and quickly running out of options James fired twice more into the glass, making a tight cluster, hopefully forming a circle of weakness he could find some way to break through. Reversing his grip on the pistol James began slamming the butt of it hard against the impact zone in a hysterical attempt to get through to the other side. But whoever had built these cells had done so well and though the glass shook it stayed intact. 

The moment Q’s body went stiff with petrified, inadequate struggling James caught it. Looking to the younger man’s face he saw the way his fearful breaths had turned into useless gasps for air that weren’t forthcoming. The look of pleasure on the bastard’s face as he pulled tighter suffused James’s vision, turning it red. As he viewed the world through that haze he caught the eyes half hidden behind that unruly mop of hair he so loved. They were wide in terror and fear, sick with the struggle against impending death – it was a look James had seen before, one he’d inflicted on too many people to count. 

It wasn’t something he was going to see perpetrated against Q any longer. The decision was made in an instant, his eyes flicking down to his PPK and knowing that he was right; he was in control with his gun in his hands. He was old, washed up, a few years away from forced retirement. Q was young, brilliant, and so fucking valuable James would have murdered world leaders in cold blood just to ensure he had his required brand of tea. 

“Close your eyes, Q,” he breathed against the glass, splaying one hand over it as though he could block Q’s sight as he brought the gun up to press hard against his own temple. _Less of a random killing machine, more of a personal statement,_ the quote floated through his head unbidden but it brought James a sense of peace nonetheless. If there was any statement worth ending his life to make, saving Q was it. 

When he pulled the trigger James’s hand was steady, finger as sure as it had always been. This was simply another mission, one he would see through no matter the personal cost. Could he trust the psychotic voice in the sky, the one that had promised one of them would leave alive? No. But at the very least he could ensure that he bought Q more time, bought MI6 more time to find him, send an agent better prepared and better able to take him home. 

The last thought James Bond ever had on this earth was simple: for Q, anything was worth it.


End file.
